Frogs in a Kettle
by sablecain
Summary: OW- A traveling preacher comes to town- Josiah and Ezra and the rest of the 7 are forced to deal with the events of 'Serpents'
1. Chapter 1

_**Frogs in a Kettle**_

(disclaimer: The m7 characters belong to MGM, Trilogy and Mirisch, no copyright infringement is intended with their use)

The frog legend, though not true, is an old wive's tale and can be found at

* * *

Josiah tossed his hammer aside and wiped his arm across his sweaty brow. Confident the bench was finally sturdy enough to hold a person's weight, he used it to push himself to his feet. He smiled, pleased with his latest accomplishment. The benches were now all dusted, polished and strong enough to support even the largest men and women who might wander into the small sanctuary. His eyes spotted a book, discarded on the floor nearby. Bending to pick it up he traced over the gilded words 'Holy Bible' and his smile fell. Events of a week ago flooded through his mind like rapid moving pictures; the governor's visit, the assassin, the money…and Ezra. Sighing deeply he started to toss the book aside and then stopped himself, instead gently setting it on the front pew. Regardless of the feelings this particular bible wrought, it was still the word of God.

Stretching, he glanced toward the front doors. The noise coming from outside the church was almost loud enough to drown out the cracking of his back and finally he caved into his curiosity to see what was going on.

The morning air was cool, making him shiver as he squinted against the sun's brightness. Adjusting his stance on the steps, he watched in dismay as a noisy procession made its way directly towards him.

Led by a covered wagon, townspeople swarmed into the street, their own curiosity driving them to follow. Josiah could hear their questions even from where he stood, but his eyes remained tightly focused on the wagon and its driver. The once white cover was now grayed and caked with years of travel and dust, but he knew, even before it rolled to a stop, what lay beneath the grime. His chest tightened as the wagon stopped in front of him. He frowned. The faint letters above a solid black cross confirmed his worst fear and he couldn't quite suppress a growl. He didn't notice Chris and Vin come up to the base of the steps.

"God's Messenger," Chris read. "Reverend Jacob Sanchez?" He looked up over his shoulder at Josiah for explanation.

Josiah didn't look at Larabee. Instead, he stared at the giant of a man climbing down from the wagon's front seat. "So he claims."

"Any relation?" Vin asked directly.

"None I want to admit," Josiah muttered.

Before anyone could comment further, the Reverend approached the base of the church steps and stopped an arm's reach away from Larabee and Tanner. He was a good four inches taller than Josiah but built the same. Chris glanced between the two men, struck by the obvious physical resemblance even though the newcomer had a clean-shaven face.

Jacob smiled tightly up at the trio of men, focusing a cold gaze on Josiah. "Well, well," he finally spoke, his voice laced with contempt. "My prodigal nephew."

Josiah let out a huff of disdain. "The prodigal returned," he pointed out sarcastically. "What do you want?"

Jacob shook his head, "Nothing from such a lost sheep." He looked down as if disappointed and then directed his attention to Chris, effectively dismissing Josiah. "I'm Reverend Sanchez," he introduced himself, extending his hand.

After a brief hesitation, Chris shook the man's hand but said nothing.

"I'm here..." Jacob pulled back and motioned flamboyantly to his wagon. "…To hold revival meetings. I'd like to use your church if I may." He posed the statement as a question, recognizing Chris as an authority figure.

Larabee shrugged. "Ask Josiah. It's his church."

Jacob blinked in surprise before turning again toward his nephew.

Josiah's expression was hard. "Lord's house, not mine," he said simply, descending the steps.

Jacob took a step backwards but Josiah kept going, ignoring the whispered murmurs of the crowd. Instead, he kept his stride even and focused on his sudden desire to get drunk.

Chris watched Josiah rigidly move toward the saloon and frowned. The atmosphere was already charged with the tension that existed between these two men and the last thing he wanted was more turmoil in a town that had just barely settled back into normalcy.

He exchanged a look with Vin, who took the unspoken cue and, without a response, slipped into the crowd to follow Josiah. Then, Chris focused his attention again on the visiting preacher. "I don't want trouble," he warned harshly.

Jacob smiled. "Of course not. I bring only the hope and joy that comes with the good news of salvation."

Chris continued to glare. "Uh-huh."

He stepped aside and watched the Reverend begin issuing orders to those who were already stepping up to volunteer their services. He'd seen the kind of 'hope and joy' that various ministers had brought to folks' lives and he had yet to encounter anything but hypocrisy. He saw no need for the straight-laced, unbending rules that were bandied about by the likes of Jacob Sanchez and…from Josiah's reaction to the man…Larabee was sure this was going to make for a long week. Sighing heavily, he abandoned his spot on the steps and maneuvered through the crowd.

"It will be so good to have some sound preaching again."

"This town needs some morality."

The comments were just what he feared. It had been just over a week since the Governor and his entourage had finally rolled out of town, and he had just managed to get the unclaimed ten thousand dollars safely into Judge Travis' possession. The Seven peacekeepers, himself included, were exhausted from the toll of guarding the money and keeping various bandits at bay. Ezra was still recovering from his gunshot wound and, on top of that, Chris had picked up on a deep tension that had sprung up between the gambler and the others…Josiah in particular. Ezra was holding himself apart from the others in a way that he hadn't in quite some time. He was guarded and Chris couldn't help but wonder if he had something to do with that.

* * *

Startled, Ezra looked up from his breakfast as Josiah slammed into the saloon. The batwing doors squeaked noisily in his wake while the room grew quiet. Patrons looked at each other as the preacher demanded a bottle of whiskey from Inez as if gauging whether or not it was safe to stay and resume their meals.

Ezra watched, wondering what had put Sanchez in his mood. It was obvious the older man was upset about something. For a brief moment, Standish considered going to his friend and then the memory of Josiah's recent anger hit him squarely. Again, he could hear the accusations in Josiah's angry words and feel the heat of his breath as he'd stood inches from him and yelled. Shaking his head, Ezra pushed the feelings of hurt and betrayal aside. They were still so sharp, too sharp. Maybe, before that incident, he might have approached Josiah to see if there was some way he could help…but not now. Instead, he watched quietly as Vin entered and went directly to Josiah's table.

Glancing down at his meal, Ezra sighed and pushed away from the table, the eggs and biscuits looking suddenly unappealing to him. He paused, breathing through the pain that suddenly caught in his side. The wound was healing just well enough that occasionally he'd forget about it and move too quickly. It didn't take long for the pain to dissipate into a tolerable discomfort and he could move again. He was half-way to the door when Chris entered. Larabee looked straight at him, as if he wanted to say something then turned away. With a sardonic smile, Ezra dusted off his sleeve, adjusted his hat and stepped out into the light.

"Hey Ez, check it out." JD motioned to the crowd at the church.

Standish's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene. "And what, pray tell, have we here?"

"Traveling preacher," Buck replied shaking his head. "Ready for a dose of fire and brimstone?"

"Hardly." Ezra shivered.

"Wagon says 'Sanchez'," JD continued. "You think the guy's related to Josiah?"

Ezra looked at the wagon then back toward the saloon. "That would explain our friend's current frame of mind."

"Josiah upset?" Buck looked surprised. "About family visiting?"

"Seeking his solace in a bottle." Ezra shrugged.

"That's not good." JD exchanged a worried look with Buck as Ezra stepped into the street.

"You seeking religion, Ezra?" Buck teased.

"Seek and you shall find." Standish tossed back with a wink. He ignored Wilmington's laughter and made his way through the throng of townspeople. He sensed the excitement in their murmurs and it sent a shiver of warning down his back. The preacher, when he came into view, left no doubt to being related to Josiah and Ezra found himself asking why Reverend Jacob Sanchez's arrival had sent Josiah into the bottle.

Josiah tried to ignore Vin and Chris, but he knew they weren't going to go away easily.

"What's the story with your uncle?" Chris asked after several minutes of silence.

Josiah took a long swallow of whiskey. Finally, he shrugged. "He's a preacher."

"Is he gonna cause trouble?" Chris asked sharply, his patience waning.

"No telling," Sanchez admitted.

"What's between you two?"

Josiah put his glass down and stood abruptly, grabbing the bottle as he did. His eyes flashed fiercely. "Nothing," he snarled. "Absolutely nothing."

* * *

By nightfall, the area around the old church building had been completely transformed. Small torches stood like sentinels on either side of the steps, the doors were propped open, welcoming parishioners. Tent-like awnings had been erected on one side of the building, adorned with lit lanterns. Chairs were set in orderly rows under the awnings and the side windows of the building were propped open.

Ezra shook his head as he watched people move in a steady stream toward the church. Most of them had made an effort to don their "Sunday best". Others, like him, watched from various places along the street. The scene amazed him. How long had Josiah worked to fix up the church, waiting every Sunday to see if one person would wander in for his service? And now this man, with Reverend tossed in front of his name, waltzed in and had an instant congregation. He knew well enough that part of the lure was simple curiosity. People got bored with routine and this was something new. The large turn-out was apt to add to Josiah's bad mood.

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Sanchez approaching. "Josiah," he greeted simply, hating the clenching chest and loss for words that continued to sweep over him when he was caught in a one-on-one with the larger man.

Josiah was staring at the townspeople entering the church. A grim smile crossed his face as Mary Travis waved from the steps and, though he tipped his hat, Ezra could tell it was mere obligation. "They're like frogs."

A laugh burst forth from Ezra but he cut the laughter short due to the pain in his side and turned toward Sanchez.

"Frogs?" he questioned incredulously.

There was no amusement in Josiah's red-rimmed eyes. He smelled of whiskey. "Frogs in a kettle."

"A kettle?" Standish shook his head. He was used to Josiah's ramblings but this one sounded like it was going to be truly entertaining.

"Old tale of warning." Josiah shifted, his voice rising in volume enough for those around to hear him clearly. "Says if you toss a frog into a kettle of boiling water it'll instinctively jump out."

Ezra watched and waited as Josiah took his time continuing. Sanchez's eyes narrowed and Standish followed his gaze. Reverend Jacob had stepped out to greet his new parishioners. Josiah spoke again, his anger making folks step further away from him. "You take the same frog and put him in cool water, and he'll stay put. Build a fire and heat the kettle up slowly and soon you'll have yourself a boiled frog."

Ezra frowned as Josiah started walking again. "They're all frogs in a kettle," Sanchez tossed out loudly. "Water's just starting to heat up."

Looking down, Ezra contemplated Josiah's words for a moment before deciding what he'd do next. What kind of warning was Josiah giving? Was his Uncle dangerous? A con, or just a rival who drew out Josiah's jealous streak? Reluctantly, Ezra ducked into the back of the church. It was standing room only inside and a few men had even stationed themselves out under the awning as Jacob began the service.

The building's interior was lit with fresh candles and lanterns, and even the bench pews looked like they had been polished. Ezra had to admit that Jacob had done a masterful job of transforming the rugged building into what looked like an actual sanctuary. Jacob himself was positioned at the front of the church behind a draped altar. His long robes matched the elegant looking fabric on the altar. One hand gripped a large leather-bound bible and the other was raised as, with a deep strong voice, he led the congregation in a traditional hymn.

Standish leaned against the back wall and observed. He stood through the a cappella singing and the prayer. He maintained his stance through Jacob's exhortation on giving and the passing of the collection plate. He listened, half amused, as Jacob then cleared his throat and began to preach against the world's evils. Drinking, gambling and prostitution were his themes. He waged his war against such sins and was still ranting, his voice a strong bellow, when Ezra slipped out into the welcoming openness of the cool dark night.

"Feeling convicted?" Vin asked, falling into step beside him.

"No, you?" he asked, realizing Tanner had been lingering near the awning.

"Nah," Vin chuckled under his breath. "Just listening."

"Doesn't sound like the good reverend has anything new to say," Ezra commented he glanced at the saloon and felt welcomed by the light inside.

"Maybe he believes he's right," Tanner spoke softly, pausing on the saloon's step, far enough from the entrance to not be heard by anyone inside.

Ezra paused, gauging where Tanner was coming from and realizing his friend was as concerned about the situation as he was.

"Or he simply admires the sound of his own voice." Ezra ran his thumb across his bottom lip. "Something Josiah said earlier leaves the distinct impression that the reverend is not motivated by altruism."

"You picked up on that too, did ya?" Vin smiled briefly. "Think it's jealousy?"

"I'm prone to consider it more complicated than that," Ezra admitted.

Vin adjusted his hat and nodded knowingly. "Me too, pard." With a look that told Ezra he wasn't quite sure how to deal with the visiting reverend, Tanner led the way into the saloon.

* * *

Josiah drank, ignoring everything around him. Occasionally, he would hear a comment about him or his uncle, but he tuned them out and focused on his drink instead. He tried to let the whiskey cloud his mind, to make him incapable of feeling, but it was failing him. His thoughts were too clear, his feelings too deep and the memories too vivid.

Nathan had tried to talk to him, telling him that that Jacob only planned to stay in town for two or three days, but Sanchez pushed Jackson away, hearing only that his friend had talked with his uncle. No one understood his feeling where Jacob was concerned and he couldn't stand to hear them try. He couldn't remember when the saloon had cleared out or when he'd demanded a third bottle from Inez. He'd been beyond noticing when he'd finally blacked out for the night.

Now someone was calling his name. His head hurt, his throat was dry and his pillow felt like it was made out of wood.

"Josiah."

Vin.

Slowly Sanchez forced his eyes open then blinked in confusion. Was he on the floor?

"Need help?"

Turning his head, Josiah could only see Tanner's scuffed boots.

"N…" his voice caught and he choked on the word.

"Thought so." A hand gripped his forearm and the room swayed as he was roughly pulled into a sitting position.

Tanner squatted beside him, one hand still grasping his arm while the other steadied him.

"Don't need…" His vision swam and he growled in frustration. He didn't want Tanner's help. He didn't want anyone.

"Yeah," Vin ignored his garbled protests. "Inez is opening and folks don't need to hear you snoring through their breakfast."

"'m fine." Josiah pushed Vin away with enough strength to knock the smaller man off balance. Tanner landed with a thump, but Sanchez didn't look at him. Instead, he grabbed the edge of a nearby table and pulled himself up into a chair. Reaching for the nearly empty bottle, he coughed and cleared his throat. "Leave me alone."

Vin shook his head angrily but didn't persist. "If that's the way you want it." He reached for his hat and lithely scrambled to his feet. Swatting the dust off his backside, he warned Inez, "Let him be." Inez frowned but nodded that she understood.

Josiah didn't look up as Vin left. He refocused his full attention on the bottle in front of him and the mind numbing escape it would provide.

Chris looked up from the book he was reading as Vin sat down beside him outside the saloon. "He still at it?" Larabee asked.

"Yeah." Vin squinted, glancing toward the church where Reverend Sanchez was preaching again. Tanner had spent the morning floating between the street and the saloon trying to keep a watch on both of the Sanchez men.

"Seems harmless enough so far." Chris closed his book and followed Vin's gaze to the church.

" 'cept for how he effects Josiah," Vin countered.

"Could just be jealous," Chris pointed out. "His uncle moves in and takes over. People are responding to him more than they ever have Josiah."

Shaking his head, Vin looked at Chris. "Don't seem like Josiah's way."

"No, but family tends to bring out the worst in us all."

"I don't get that." Tanner adjusted his hat.

"Mr. Larabee has a valid point," Ezra joined the conversation having just come out of the saloon. He leaned against the roof support and checked his pocket watch. "Mr. Sanchez is drinking his noonday meal." He looked at Tanner and Larabee. "Only one person in my life drives me to that point."

"Yeah?" Vin asked.

"Mother." Ezra smiled.

"Still," Vin looked disturbed. " 'Siah might have reason for how he's acting. Shouldn't we give him the benefit of the doubt?"

Chris nodded. "Long as he's not causing problems I can."

Ezra's rough laugh surprised them both.

"What?" Tanner questioned.

Standish shook his head. "Nothing." He adjusted his jacket, avoiding looking directly at either of them. "Of course Mr. Sanchez deserves your support," he said genuinely.

"What was that about?" Vin asked turning to Chris as Ezra walked away.

"Trust," Larabee replied softly.

* * *

Ezra spent his day watching, observing those around him and particularly focusing on Reverend Sanchez in an attempt to both forget the hurt and anger he felt towards the others and to find out what was bothering Josiah.

Dressed in a simple brown jacket and minus his usual hat, he snuck into the late afternoon service, careful not to draw undo attention to himself. Listening to Jacob was like an exercise in self-deprecation but it was taking in the reactions of others around him that caused the most concern.

Jacob was persuasive, charismatic and eloquent. Masterfully, he wove his sermons, mixing his harsh philosophies with pretty words, but keeping it on a level that even the average rancher could fully understand. He emphasized judgment over love, and discipline over mercy, blasting sinners with only a mere mention of forgiveness and mixed into the message was a subtle but prevalent focus on giving.

Ezra watched the smiled responses, the nodding and the open postures with growing apprehension. He'd stood behind a pulpit before and had seen the signs. The people of Four Corners were primed and ready to reach into their pockets and hand over their monetary support to the Reverend's ministry. Josiah's frog in the kettle analogy came to mind more than once.

By evening Ezra was tired of the undercover persona and was back in his normal colorful garb. It didn't surprise him to hear the muttered comments against him when he walked the town again or to see that the saloon was nearly empty.

Buck and JD sat at a table with Nathan and Vin, their empty dinner plates pushed aside.

"Nice thing about these meetings," Buck was saying. "Folks are feeling too guilty to cause any trouble."

Nathan nodded but didn't smile, he noticed the tiredness and concern emanating from Standish. "You okay, Ezra?" he asked.

"Better than some."

Nathan followed the gambler's gaze to the opposite corner of the room where Josiah slumped in his chair.  
"He's been there all day," Jackson said. "Refuses to talk to anyone."

"Maybe a little persistence is in order."

"Ez," Vin started as he caught Ezra's arm.

"Mr. Tanner."

"Don't get yourself killed." There was no humor in the Tracker's eyes.

Ezra smiled. "I fully intend to survive." He gently pulled away. "But I thank you for your concern."

"You really think Josiah would hurt him?" JD asked as Standish crossed the room.

"He's drunk, kid," Vin sipped at his beer. "Could do anything."

Buck nodded. "I'm not sure if Ezra's very brave or very stupid."

Nathan sighed heavily. "My bet's on stupid."

Ezra took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he knew would be a hostile reception. Regardless of their recent history or his apprehension towards the preacher, Ezra was tired of watching his friend drink himself into a stupor. If no one else was going to step in, he would and, more importantly, he intended on getting more information about Jacob Sanchez and his motives.

"Evening," he sat down across the table from Josiah.

Very slowly, Sanchez raised his gaze from the lamp burning in the center of the table to Ezra. "Go away, Ezra," he growled and glared.

Casually, Ezra pulled out his silver flask and uncapped it. He swirled the contents a few times before taking a sip.

Josiah's eyes followed his movements. "What do you want?" he hissed.

Ezra smiled. "I thought maybe you could use some companionship other than that inanimate bottle you've been hugging all day."

Sanchez glanced at the latest bottle of whiskey he'd procured for himself. "I like my bottle."

"I noticed."

Josiah snarled, "Told you to go away."

"Yes, well…I never have been very cooperative at following direct orders." Ezra waited patiently, trying to ignore Josiah's threatening look. It unnerved him the way one confrontation had completely thrown off his self-assurance with this man, but he was determined not to show it.

"I don't want to talk," Sanchez muttered, his gaze shifting from Ezra to the table where the others sat trying not to look like they were watching.

"Understood." Ezra nodded and concentrated on his flask, tracing the ornately engraved EPS. He wasn't sure what would happen next but at least Josiah wasn't reaching for the bottle…yet.

Minutes passed and Ezra didn't move from his spot. It irritated Josiah but comforted him a little as well. It surprised him, too. Every one of his fellow peacekeepers had approached him already, each trying to help or delve into the matter of his mood. Out of all of them though, no one had stayed. No one had persisted or put up with the anger and yet here sat Ezra, the least likely to even want to talk to him. Hell, the man had barely talked to him at all in the last week and Josiah couldn't really blame him. He couldn't understand what motivated Ezra to stay now.

Outside someone passing by shouted that the evening service was starting. Josiah flinched in spite of himself. He could feel the rage boiling within him.

"He's a liar," Josiah spat out suddenly surprising himself and Ezra.

Standish looked up from the flask he was fiddling with and met his gaze. "Is he?"

Sanchez nodded then swayed dizzily. The room spun for a second and he actually reached to steady his head. "My uncle," he shook his head. The memories he'd been trying to keep away with the whiskey were breaking through anyway. "He's so much like my father," he mumbled. "Fire and brimstone, judgment and damnation. He talks the talk but he walks through bullshit."

Ezra raised his eyebrows but didn't interupt.

"Long time ago," Josiah began hesitantly, his voice low and slightly slurred. "I used to see him different."

"How so?" Ezra asked quietly.

Sighing heavily, Josiah ran a hand over his face, scratched his beard and leaned forward resting his elbows on the table. After a minute, he reached inside his plain linen shirt and withdrew a small woven cross. It was faded but Ezra could still see splashes of color in the mismatched fabric scraps it had been made with. It hung from a braided rope of solid brown material.

"Made this when I was somewhere about fourteen or so." Josiah said running his fingertips over the bumpy edges. "I was going through some things with my father." His eyes darted up to meet Ezra's.

Ezra nodded.

"Father, he was hard on me and my sister since we were little. It was all about being the missionary's son and, honestly, I was never good at living up to that title. Around the time I turned 13 or 14, I was starting to come into my own. Had my own take on things and it rarely, if ever, meshed with my father's. His idea of persuasion and changing a child's mind tended to get heavy handed, especially when I'd argue."

Ezra didn't say anything as Josiah's eyes returned to the cross.

"Uncle Jacob came visiting and I idolized him. He seemed to be everything that Father wasn't and one evening I approached him. I gave him this and asked him if we could talk."

Faint strains of singing drifted into the saloon, making Josiah pause again before continuing. "I told him everything I was feeling, confided in him my thoughts toward my father, my doubts about my faith…every blessed thing. I thought he would listen, give me guidance and be the confidant he portrayed himself to be. Instead," Josiah's fingers tightened on the cross. "He tossed this back at me and told me he'd never accept anything from such sin stained hands. He went to my father and reported the entire conversation to him, then watched as I was punished. I can still remember looking up between dodging my Father's fists and seeing that bastard smiling." Sanchez's voice tightened with anger. He reached for the whiskey bottle. "From that time on, I've never had much use for Jacob." His voice turned into a snarl. "I wear this cross to remember to try to be true to myself because this world is already full enough of folks saying one thing and doing another.

"He's not real," Josiah shook his head. "There's nothing real about that man, nothing."

Suddenly the tentative calm that had settled over Josiah was gone. The whiskey bottle slammed against the table with shattering force.

Ezra raised his arm instinctively protecting himself from flying shards of glass.

"They need to know!" Josiah exploded out of his chair, waving in the direction go the church. "He's not real!"

"Josiah." Ezra scrambled to his feet and hurried to get between the larger man and the door. "You don't want to do this now," he said calmly.

"I told you to go away!" Sanchez shouted as he advanced, shoving Ezra hard.

Standish fell back against a table, knocking it over. He gasped, crashing to the floor; the pain searing through his side with such intensity it took his breath away.

Josiah stormed out of the saloon without looking back.

The others were on their feet. Nathan helped Ezra stand up. "You all right?" he questioned with concern.

"Let him go," Ezra gasped huskily at Vin and Buck who were heading toward the door to chase after Sanchez. Ignoring Jackson's question and shaking off the Healer's support, he nodded a thank you to JD as the younger man handed him his hat.

"Is he gonna hurt somebody?" Tanner asked, stepping half out of the saloon to keep an eye on the preacher as he stumbled along the street toward the church.

Ezra shook his head, trying to disguise his pain as disorientation. His side throbbed agonizingly, and he feared the wound had torn in his fall. "I don't think so," he finally managed.

"Let's go make sure." Buck frowned and followed Vin out into the street.

Ezra waited until the others were all outside before slowly following after them. His mind reeled from the confrontation with Sanchez. His side burned and he was certain he was bleeding again. He could sense Jackson looking back at him suspiciously but hoped his expression revealed only concern for Josiah. Surreptitiously he slipped his handkerchief inside his shirt and pressed it against the oozing wound, breathing deep as a wave of nausea assaulted him. He hissed softly and managed to straighten his jacket, hoping that he looked normal.

"What's going on?" Chris met the group in the street just as Josiah sluggishly reached the church steps.

"He's planning on having his say with his uncle." Vin gestured in Sanchez's direction. "Figured we should be on hand in case it don't go well."

"Just hope we don't end up having to shoot anybody." Chris grunted, falling into step with them. "Especially Josiah."

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

Frogs in a kettle… part 2

* * *

Josiah stumbled as he reached the church, falling hard onto the steps and half crawling to the landing. Intent on bursting through the front doors, he swayed with confusion at finding them already propped open. He could see and hear his Uncle at the front of the small sanctuary, leading the congregation in prayer, and his anger grew. Growling softly, Josiah swaggered inside, grasping the backbench for balance. The room was crowded, warm and stuffy and the floor seemed uneven beneath his feet.

People were beginning to notice him. Distracted from the prayer, they turned to stare, wrinkling their noses and making faces of disgust as they took in his disheveled appearance and alcohol permeated smell.

Josiah chuckled at their expressions. "He's a fraud you know," he pointed haphazardly at his uncle.

Jacob, his head still bowed, stopped in mid-sentence and looked up, meeting his nephew's accusation with a smug smile.

"You are a fraud." Josiah raised his voice and took another step forward. People scrunched together on the benches, sliding away from him.

Behind Josiah, Ezra squeezed past Chris and Vin. He took a spot inside by the door while the others stood just outside, ready to intervene if necessary.

Jacob shook his head in mock sadness. "I'm the fraud?" he asked. "You're the drunk preacher." His voice hardened. "What sort of shepherd are you? Toting around your weaponry, drinking your whiskey and living your life of sin?"

"I never claimed to be anything I'm not," Josiah defended.

"You're nothing but a jealous pathetic has-been." The townspeople murmured amongst themselves, nodding in agreement with Jacob. "You couldn't drag one parishioner into your measly excuse for a church." The elder Sanchez spread his arms wide. "I've filled the building and then some…"

"Like a hypocrite, standing in the synagogue that he may be seen by men." Josiah struggled to think clearly.

Jacob laughed at him, infuriating Josiah all the more. "You can try and quote the good book at me but it won't change the truth here. We can all see it clearly."

"You come into the house of God so drunk you can barely stand and falsely accuse me of wrongdoing." He looked around the small sanctuary, including his listeners in his lesson. His voice rose with righteous indignation until he was almost shouting.

Josiah winced and Jacob continued, obviously enjoying the effect he was having on his nephew. "Your selfish jealousy has blinded you. Look at yourself, Josiah!"

Josiah shook his head, the words reverberating through him.

"Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts."

Josiah stumbled backwards as if Jacob's words were physical blows. He spun away and saw Ezra standing by the door, pale and stricken. Their eyes locked briefly and Josiah turned away unable to handle the mix of emotions he saw in Ezra. He pushed past the others, fumbling down the steps and moving as quickly away from the church as his uncoordinated body would allow.

"Josiah," Nathan called out as Sanchez clumsily ran down the street, but Josiah showed no sign of hearing.

The congregation sat in stunned silence, not quite understanding the confrontation between the two preachers. Jacob, looking hot and tired, smiled wanly and then went right on with his service as if nothing had happened. He ignored the five peacekeepers in the doorway and gradually they left.

Ezra stayed in the back, ignoring the pain that was gradually numbing his entire side and watched Jacob finish his service. He shook off the mind reeling similarities between Jacob's words to Josiah and Josiah's outburst toward him the week before, instead focusing completely on Jacob. He watched, almost admiringly as Jacob recaptured the crowd's full attention and pulled them into his message. It didn't take long for Ezra to pick up on the Reverend's main theme of the night. He stayed until the closing prayer when he slipped out quietly. By the time he managed to get back to his room and light the lamp, the pain in his side had re-ignited.

Carefully he eased out of his jacket, surprised to find his vest damp and sticky with fresh blood. The damage to his wound was worse than he'd initially thought. Taking deep breaths, he re-bandaged his side with fresh handkerchiefs and bandages that Nathan had given him for daily care of the gash. Pulling the top bandage tight, he grunted and grabbed the bedpost to stay upright through a wave of dizziness and nausea. He put on a fresh shirt and once again donned his jacket, skipping a vest and hoping that the evening's darkness would keep anyone from noticing the sloppiness of his attire.

He knew that he should go find Nathan and seek proper care but a wave of doubt washed over him at the thought. Up until the last week, despite their differences, Ezra had been able to entrust himself to Jackson's care and welcomed a tentative friendship. When Nathan and the others had been so vocal about their lack of faith in him during the governor's visit…Ezra had rebuilt the wall that kept him a safe arm's length from those around him. Letting people get close to you only got you hurt. It was a lesson he seemed to have a difficult time learning. Maybe his problem was that he actually liked to feel close to other people.

With a deep breath and a healthy swig of whiskey from his flask, Ezra left his room. There were pressing matters to attend to and if his side didn't stop bleeding and start to improve once he'd taken care of them, then he'd force himself to seek out Jackson's assistance.

* * *

"What should we do now?" JD asked as he paced the jail anxiously. He'd never seen Josiah looking as distraught as he had when he'd run from the church, not even when he'd been accused of murder by that Pinkerton detective.

"Leave him be," Chris' answer sounded like an order.

Buck nodded in agreement, leaning against the jail cell bars. "Ezra already tried to talk to him and that didn't go well."

The impromptu meeting had started when the five men drifted from the church to the jail. Chris sat at the desk, drumming his fingers on the worn wood. Buck and Vin leaned casually against the cell bars while Nathan sat by the door and JD paced.

"Not sure we should let him be," Jackson countered, looking up from twisting his hat in his lean hands. "In his mind set, who knows what he might do." His eyes drifted from man to man before he shrugged. "I just don't know," he admitted to their unasked questions.

"I'll go." Vin pushed away from the bars and headed for the door. "I've talked to him before 'bout stuff. Maybe I can help again."

Chris nodded reluctantly as Tanner left the tiny building.

"Are we gonna chase Sanchez out of town?" Buck asked, referring to Jacob.

"He ain't done anything wrong." Nathan sighed and leaned back heavily. "Don't seem right."

"We'll watch him, but Nathan's right. We can't touch him unless he's done something wrong," Chris answered.

"What about Ezra?" JD posed the new question.

"What about him?" Buck looked at the youngster who finally stood still for a moment.

"Think he's alright? I mean he's been acting strange like lately, kind of distant…and now he ain't here. Where is he?"

"We'll worry about him after we deal with Josiah and his Uncle," Chris answered, amazed at the kid's perception. "I'm sure he's just laying low after the run in he had with Josiah."

It didn't take very long for Vin to find Josiah. Even in the darkness there weren't a whole lot of places a man Josiah's size and in his condition could hide where someone with Vin's tracking ability couldn't find him. In the end, Josiah didn't actually make much of an effort either.

The livery was dark and the horses were restless, stomping and snorting their unhappiness as Vin lit a lamp and hung it high enough that it cast light to see by, but was well out of the way of anyone knocking it over. Shadows now danced on the walls as the flame flickered in the night breeze. Un-phased, Vin searched until he found the deserted stall where Josiah sat forlornly on a bale of hay.

The larger man's face looked ghastly in the eerie light of the lamp, contorted in anger and fear.

"Josiah." Vin approached cautiously.

Sanchez shook his head, mumbling inaudibly.

Vin stepped closer. "Thought I'd see how you were doing," he tried again.

Like a tightly wound spring suddenly released, Josiah leapt up and grabbed Tanner by the neck, slamming him roughly into the wall.

Horses neighed, protesting the noise. Vin gasped, trying to breath as Sanchez's grip tightened.

"I. Don't. Want. To. Talk," Josiah whispered menacingly, his face a mere inch from the Tracker's. "Got it?" he snarled.

The sharp sound of a weapon cocking split through the tension and, his eye's widening, Josiah immediately released Vin and took a step backwards, away from the barrel of the mare's leg pressed into his gut.

"Got it," Vin answered harshly, one hand going to his bruised throat. "Sit down," he ordered, pointing with his gun.

Josiah's face turned into a mass of guilt and shame as he sank slowly onto the hay. "Vin," he started, horrified at what he'd done.

"Shut up," Vin snapped. He took a minute to collect himself, re-holstered his weapon and adjusted his hat. "I'm only here to help. You don't want that…fine. Lay a hand on me again and there'll be no warning before I shoot you dead."

"I'm sorry." Sanchez closed his eyes.

Vin sighed heavily, relaxing against the stall again, certain that any danger had been scared out of the preacher. "Forget it," he said finally. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"I…don't…Jacob, the things he said." Josiah ran his hands over his face. "The things I said to Ezra…the hypocrisy," he said the last word like a curse.

Vin looked down at him, confused. What he thought was a matter of jealousy and family conflict suddenly seemed more complicated. "What about Ezra?" he asked, wondering how the gambler fit into the picture. "You bothered by something you told him earlier?" he asked, knowing how private Josiah liked to keep his affairs.

Josiah frowned and shook his head. "No, no." He cringed. "I hurt him," he muttered.

"How?" Vin straightened with concern. He remembered that Sanchez had pushed Ezra pretty hard, but the southerner had appeared to be all right afterwards.

"Please," Josiah looked up at him. "Just leave me be."

Vin watched his friend, debating what he should do, then sank down onto some hay just far enough away to be un-intrusive. "I won't bother you none, but I'm not leaving either," he explained. "Not till you're sober again."

* * *

Though it was nearing dawn, the town was still steeped in darkness when Ezra slowly but silently made his way to the church. He tried to ignore the excruciating pain that shot through his body with each jarring step, knowing that if he let himself think about it, he'd shut down and never get through the night.

As he quietly came around the back corner of the church, it wasn't a surprise to find Jacob's wagon pulled up close to the side door. A dozen or so lit candles created a path and gave off enough light to see by. The horses were harnessed, waiting patiently, and the wagon appeared to be loaded and ready to move out.

Jacob appeared in the doorway, completely unaware of another's presence. He grasped a leather satchel in one hand and pulled the door closed with the other.

"Going somewhere?"

Jacob, half-bent to blow out a candle, startled as Ezra's voice broke the stillness. He fell back against the building searching frantically for the speaker. "Who's there?"

Ezra stepped into the light.

"What do you want?" Jacob tried to recover. "I'm about to retire for the evening."

Standish smiled wickedly and moved closer, his gun now drawn and visible. "I think, sir, that you should consider a more permanent retirement."

* * *

The brightness of the early morning sun seemed a sharp contrast to Larabee's scowling dark countenance as he moved through the throng of townspeople angrily gathered outside the jail.

"Who do you think you are?" one man yelled.

"You can't arrest a man for teaching God's word," another joined in.

"Hey, Larabee, you gonna let the Reverend out?" someone else asked as Chris reached the walk. He turned, not paying attention to who was asking what.

"Depends on what he's done," he answered tightly. He didn't like how this looked as he scanned the growing crowd again. Up the street, he could see that Nathan, Josiah and Vin were on their way.

"Let the preacher go!" someone shouted, starting a chant that was quickly picked up by the rest of the group.

Scowling again, Larabee bolted into the jail wondering what the hell was going on. Ezra sat at the desk looking completely unconcerned. Buck stood watch near the window. "You better have a damn good reason for locking him up," he snarled.

Ezra simply smiled and slid a brown satchel across the desktop to him.

Chris glanced at Standish, and then inspected the bag. It was filled with money. Raising an eyebrow, he turned to the cell where Jacob Sanchez sat, starring angrily out at them.

"What's this?" Larabee asked.

"The Lord's offerings," Jacob answered snidely. "Given freely."

"With the promise that all would be used to establish the church and better the town," Ezra added.

"How do you know that?"

"I stayed for his sermon."

Chris looked at the gambler again, wondering distractedly why his words sounded slurred. "And the problem with it?" he asked, already guessing the answer.

"Ezra found him loading up his wagon, and ready to go better some other town with it all," Buck cut in. "Here they come." He moved to the door, opening it to let JD and Mary Travis enter.

"I found them." Mary smiled triumphantly at Ezra.

"Thank you, Mrs. Travis." He returned the smile. "I appreciate your assistance in this matter."

"Found what?" Chris looked from Standish to Mary. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

Mary handed him a small pile of newspapers. "Ezra came to me last night and asked me to do some research for him. I found four direct references to Sanchez. It seems that he rides into small townships, holds services collecting offerings with the promise of setting up a permanent church. Then after a day or so—he pulls out in the middle of the night, leaving the townsfolk with nothing."

Chris accepted the papers and quickly skimmed the articles Mary pointed out.

"I thought it would be best to have some matter of proof to show our good citizens in way of explanation for his incarceration," Ezra explained.

"Did he really break the law?" JD asked. "I mean, they did give him the money on their own," he pointed out.

"Yeah," Chris considered. "Not sure it's enough to hold him more than a day or so, but it's plenty reason enough to run him out of town."

"Good thinking." Buck nodded. "We'd better get explaining soon though." He motioned to the restless crowd outside. The chanting continued.

"Let's do it," Chris agreed.

The crowd grew quiet as Chris stepped outside again, followed by the others. Ezra stood slowly, and lagging behind and using the desk for support.

"Listen up," Larabee said, commanding the group's full attention.

Vin, Josiah and Nathan were across the street watching and listening.

"Jacob Sanchez was arrested early this morning by Ezra Standish." Some of the people began to mumble angrily, but a cutting glare from Larabee renewed the silence. "He was attempting to leave town with your money."

"No," Someone protested.

"He wouldn't."

"You're setting him up." The accusation was expected.

"I have four news stories here from Mrs. Travis that tell how he's done the same thing in four other towns, at least." Chris waved the papers in the air. The crowd grew suddenly somber. "He was taking the money, and Ezra stopped him, plain and simple. We got all your money and later this afternoon you can come claim exactly what you gave or give it to the church as planned. Anyone trying to claim more than that will end up in jail with the preacher," he warned. "Now git before my men lose patience with all this noise."

Slowly, in stunned shock and silence, the people started to disperse.

"Frogs," Ezra mumbled softly as he watched. The ground seemed to lurch beneath his feet and he felt as if he was spinning.

"What?" Chris stared at him.

"Frogs," Ezra repeated clearly, then crumpled, collapsing onto the walk.

* * *

"What was he thinking?" Nathan fumed as he pushed his empty lunch plate away and looked around the table at Chris, Buck and Vin. After spending the morning patching up Ezra and making sure the Southerner was resting as comfortably as possible, Jackson needed to vent his anger.

"He could have seriously hurt himself, running around like he did," Jackson shook his head. "All he had to do was come to me and I'd have helped him. I don't even know how honest he's being with me now. Lord knows how much blood he actually lost." Nathan sighed heavily and pressed his fingertips together, the anger in his voice turning to disappointment. "I thought we had moved past all the suspicion and distrust."

Chris looked at Jackson and chuckled harshly. "Nice speech," he commented sarcastically.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you really think we should be talking about trust?" Larabee asked, pushing his chair back and standing. "Last week I didn't even bother to give him a chance -- when he's backed me up enough times that I should have."

"But," Nathan started to protest, looking at Tanner and Wilmington for support. Buck fiddled with a biscuit, crumbling it with his fingers and not looking at either Chris or Nathan. Tanner leaned back in his chair listening intently to both men but gave no clues as to which he agreed with.

"But nothing," Chris cut him off, his voice rising. "Regardless of his faults, he deserved more…from all of us. Why the hell should we expect him to keep trusting us when we've already thrown ours in his face?"

The saloon was silent, the few lunchtime patrons frozen in their places, watching as Larabee yelled.

Chris grabbed his hat from the table. "Ezra might think of the money in a situation first, but in the end he's learned to make the right choice—and none of us can honestly say we'd be alive if he hadn't." His rant finished, he strode out of the building, leaving the others in stunned silence.

* * *

Josiah squinted in the afternoon sun, his head throbbing in beat with each slow stride up the clinic steps. He felt as if he'd been trampled by a dozen horses…and deserved it all. He'd tried to sleep off his hangover, but ended up debating whether or not to go to Ezra. He knew he needed to apologize to Standish, to explain. He just didn't know if Ezra would be willing to hear him out.

Finally, he reached the landing and, after a brief pause to catch his breath and gather his courage, he entered the Nathan's little room.

Ezra was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless save for the white bandage striping his middle. His one arm was in a sling again to prevent his wound from pulling. His face was contorted in pain as he tried to slip a shirt on.

"Are you sure you ought to be doing that?" Josiah asked softly.

Ezra startled, gasping at the sudden sound of another and crying out as he moved too quickly. He swayed in pain.

Sanchez rushed forward, catching the gambler easily before he could fall and, easing him back onto the bed, propped him up on a small pile of pillows. Josiah waited, watching carefully as Ezra breathed rapidly and tried to collect himself.

"I was trying," Ezra managed, his accent thick. "To slip out without a big scene."

Josiah chuckled and reached for a cup of water from the side table. "I apologize for ruining your plan." He held out the water and Ezra took it unsteadily. Keeping his hand loosely around the cup, Josiah supported it in case Standish couldn't. Their fingers touched briefly and it surprised the preacher that Ezra didn't pull away from his assistance.

"Saved me a confrontation with Mr. Jackson, I imagine," Ezra replied self-deprecatingly once he was finished, letting Josiah take the cup.

Josiah set it on the table and covered Ezra's legs with a blanket from the end of the bed, hiding all evidence that the injured had been attempting an escape. Pulling a chair up, he sat down beside the bed. "Any reason why you're in such a hurry to get out of here?" he asked, watching Ezra's expression carefully.

Ezra's face remained unreadable. "I detest any form of incarceration, Mr. Sanchez," he replied honestly.

"Or maybe you're just tired of dealing with the lot of us." Josiah looked down, ignoring Ezra's surprise at his remark. "I need to explain some things to you about my actions lately," he continued.

Ezra squirmed, adjusting his potion and looking particularly uncomfortable. "I don't…"

"Be quiet, Son, and let me talk," Sanchez interrupted. Taking another deep breath, he went on. "When I was young, it was my job, along with my sister, to collect money for my father's church or mission—wherever we were at the time. We'd collect hundreds and hundreds in donations and all of it… all of it went to the ministry." He glanced up making sure Ezra was listening. "I grew up watching my father don fine robes for his services while his children wore rags. We never had anything, and for years I coveted the wealth that passed through my hands." He swallowed slowly and cleared his throat. "Last week, when Chris gave me that money… I was a child all over again. I could look at it, touch it." He blushed remembering he'd actually slept on it. "I could smell it and taste it, but it still wasn't mine and damn it…I wanted it."

"When you came to talk to me, I was angry. Angry that the money wasn't mine, angry that I wanted it, just angry. I took that anger out on you when you needed someone to listen. You reached out and I literally threw it all back in your face."

"Not everything you said to me was off the mark," Ezra admitted quietly.

Josiah laughed softly, "Maybe not, but there are better ways of making a man look at himself honestly. All I did was push you into doing what everyone was already accusing you of wanting to do. You came to me for help, and I chased you away."

Ezra opened his mouth to speak but Josiah hurried on. "When Jacob yelled my own words at me, Lord, I realized how wrong I had been. There's more to that scripture, you know. It may start with 'let the wicked forsake his way and the unrighteous man his thoughts,' but it goes on. 'And let him return to the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him.' I gave you nowhere to turn and showed no mercy."

Silence was heavy in the room until Ezra spoke. "Last I was aware…you aren't the Lord."

Looking up in surprise, Josiah caught the glint of humor in Ezra's eyes. He shook his head smiling and sat back in his chair. "No, not a claim I've ever made." He watched Ezra, taking in the mussed hair, the dark circles beneath tired eyes, and the line of pain that Standish couldn't hide, and grew serious again. "I'm sorry about this," he motioned to the bed. "That I hurt you."

"It'll teach me to stay out of your way," Ezra tried again to lighten the mood.

"No," Josiah stopped him. "It means everything that you were there. I'm just sorry I was too drunk and angry to see that then."

"All's forgiven." Ezra said nonchalantly.

"I mean it, Son." Josiah grew serious. "I won't forget that you were there for me and I hope that the next time you need someone to listen—you won't be afraid to try again. Next time, I promise…I'll be there for you."

Ezra licked his bottom lip. "I'll keep that in mind."

Josiah nodded, accepting Ezra's word. "I better let you rest." He stood and moved to the door where he paused again. "One more question—What made you so watchful of Jacob? Everyone else just thought I was a jealous drunk."

"Your frog story," Ezra ducked his head sheepishly. "It reminded me of how easy it used to be when I would work a con as a preacher." He shrugged and winced at the action. "The congregation never sees it coming."

Ezra watched Josiah leave and relaxed into the pillows, allowing himself to release some of the tension he felt. Josiah's visit had surprised him, the apology leaving him confused. He was thankful for Josiah's words, for the explanation about the money and yet…he still wasn't sure he was ready to just put it all behind him. The others' lack of trust had made him doubt himself, as well as his place in the group, and it was going to take more than words to mend things.

Exhausted, he tried to put it out of his mind for the time being. No one was chasing him out of town yet and the truth was, he didn't really want to go anywhere else.

The door opening disturbed his thoughts and he opened his eyes expecting to see Nathan. Instead, Chris stood there looking very uncomfortable. For a minute, Ezra wondered if he'd thought too soon. Maybe Chris was done with him, but his better judgment reminded him that even Larabee wouldn't run a wounded man out of town…not this late in the afternoon anyway.

Larabee cleared his throat. "How're you feeling?" he questioned.

"Better."

"Good." Chris shifted from one foot to another then dove right in. "Last week I should have handled things different, should have given you a chance."

"I think I more than proved what would have happened if you had," Ezra admitted.

Larabee shrugged. "The important choice wasn't the one you keep beating yourself up about—it was staying, and in staying you saved Mary. If we'd been better friends maybe you'd have chosen differently about that money--but then you wouldn't be here either. Point is, I know it ain't fair to ask, but if you could consider giving us all another chance…" his voice faded, his eyes meeting Ezra's. "It'd mean a lot."

He didn't wait for any response from Ezra, just turned and left, leaving Ezra shocked at the admission. He couldn't remember Larabee ever asking anything of him. Telling, ordering and threatening, yes, but requesting? The heaviness in his chest lightened a bit as he relaxed against the pillows again. Though he knew there was a long way to go and it meant opening himself up to the possibility of getting hurt again…he felt good. They might have been words, but coming from Chris…it was more than that, it was a beginning.

* * *

Josiah entered the jail quietly. Jacob hadn't garnered any real concern from the others as a true threat, thus no one was on duty. The tiny building was empty save for the two Sanchez men.

Jacob lay, stretched out on the cell's single narrow cot and turned his head at the noise of Josiah's entrance. "You come here to gloat now, boy?" he asked sitting up slowly.

Josiah watched, noting how aged his uncle suddenly appeared. "Nothing to gloat about."

The elder Sanchez laughed harshly and stood, stepping closer to the bars. "You can't say you're not pleased to see me in here."

"For trying to rob my town…yes." Josiah was honest. "No other reason than that."

"I wasn't robbing nobody." Jacob waved a hand indifferently. "What do you want?"

"When are you leaving?"

"Whenever your friend gets it into his mind to let me out, I suppose." Jacob frowned. "Probably tomorrow morning, why?" he asked, sitting down on the cot again.

Josiah looked at him, determined he would not be intimidated by the familiar cutting voice or the mannerisms that reminded him so vividly of his father. "I have something for you." He removed his hat and reached into his shirt. Carefully he slipped the handmade cross over his head. "A long time ago I tried to give this to you." He looked up, meeting his uncle's piercing eyes. "You threw it back at me. I've held onto it all this time, always telling myself that I kept it to remember to be true to myself and what I believed in." He twisted the corded rope through his fingers. "It wasn't until today I realized I'd been deceiving myself. The only thing this ever did was help me hold onto my anger and hatred toward you."

Jacob made a sound of disgust, unmoved by Josiah's comments.

Josiah smiled and carefully wrapped the small cross around one of the bars. He watched a moment as it hung, swaying and twisting in the late afternoon shadows. He put his hat back on and then without a word he turned and walked out of the building.

The end!


End file.
